


Salve

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-03
Updated: 2017-03-03
Packaged: 2018-09-28 00:15:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10058522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Haldir had thought himself dead, but Faramir has other ideas.





	

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Fill for anon’s “movieverse Haldir angst and/or hurt/comfort? Maybe he doesn't die at Helm's deep but is instead captured by orcs? Or injured and has to be nursed back to health? I'm not picky about the pairing but any elf/human pairing would be great” prompt on [the Hobbit Kink Meme](http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/2320.html?thread=4060176#t4060176).
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Lord of the Rings or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

The second he’s conscious, it _hurts_ , and he tries to regress, tries to sink back into himself, give his body a chance to heal or at least his mind a chance to escape the agony, but it stings too much to let him sleep. He can feel himself clenching his jaw together, his eyes scrunched closed, fingers digging into his palms at his side. He’s lying on his back, the ground hard and uneven beneath him—what must be plain dirt and rocks. It occurs to him, with the terrible rush of his memories, that they haven’t yet made it to Mordor.

The very word makes him shiver. He aches to spring from the floor, reach for anything that might serve as a weapon, and slay his captors, but it was three-dozen orcs that finally drove him from the cover of his trees. He knows he’s out numbered. He knows he’s too broken to move. He knows the friends he traveled with—at least, thank the Valar, not his brothers—are likely dead or long left behind. 

Yet, when Haldir strains his ears, he can no longer hear their cruel snarls. Orcs are loud, obnoxious creatures. He can’t hear a thing, and more telling still, can smell nothing but the damp earth below and the foreign aroma of pines.

He squints his eyes open and finds faint starlight through the treetops. It isn’t _his_ forest—they scouted too far for that, and the orcs, after his capture, dragged him further still. He wonders distantly if, after their last round of fists and lashes, they found him too bruised to walk, and left him for dead. 

It would be a better fate than whatever lay at their destination.

He hears a twig snap, only that, and then silence again, but it’s enough for his senses to perk up. He has to swallow down the _fear_ that lingers from his last fight. He’s always had enough courage for two, but he’s also never found himself so incredibly _vulnerable_. He can barely breathe around all his broken bones and doubts he could so much as sit up if he wanted to. In the absence of all other options, Haldir shuts his eyes and strains his breath to the dull ease of sleep. Fighting harder against the orcs only brought more pain. 

What comes through the trees smells nothing like an orc. It moves quietly, gracefully—he knows that without having to see, can _sense_ it, and a soft voice sighs, “Right where I left you. Good.”

It’s the common tongue. A Man, Haldir thinks. That can play any which way, but out here, in the middle of the wild, so far from any settlement, he would think it more dangerous than not. He deliberately doesn’t answer, waiting to assess his company.

Only when they’re right at his side can he hear the faint footsteps: the Man walks with skill. Something brushes his arm—a knee, perhaps? And then his tunic is being peeled open. As his chest rises against its bindings, he realizes that something else is strung about his middle. He’s heard of mortal bandages before but never seen them. A ticklish plant is pressed over them, then crushed across his chest, then rubbed in by gentle hands—their warmth is a welcome caress. The night air is cool, but the being beside him tenderly draws Haldir’s tunic back around him when the paste, likely of herbs, is finished. Both lands linger on him for only a moment, then withdraw, and one reappears to sweep a few sweat-matted strands of dirtied hair behind his pointed ear. 

The Man murmurs to him, “May you heal soon, my handsome friend.” Haldir’s breath nearly hitches, and a chaste kiss is placed against his forehead. He knows that as a custom of Gondor. The word _friend_ reverberates in his fear-addled mind, the description of _handsome_ a confusing bonus. At least this Man is clearly not one of those that blame the firstborn for all the world’s woes.

As the kiss withdraws, Haldir deems it safe to open his eyes. The Man halts, hovering right above him, palm still pressed to his cheek. Haldir parts his lips but doesn’t know yet what to say—he’s still at this stranger’s mercy.

The Man smiles softly and whispers, “I am glad you are finally well enough to open your eyes, Elf. I have carried you for two days with not a sign of life but the beating of your heart and the efforts of your lungs.” _Two days_. Only decades of training keep Haldir from a shameful wince. He’s never missed duty for so long. But then, nor has he been captured and tormented by Morgoth’s foul demons. 

When Haldir offers nothing, the Man tells him, “I am Faramir of Gondor. Can you tell me your name?”

 _Faramir_. The sound of it, at least in part, is familiar, but there are many Men of similar sounds and have been many more over the years, and Haldir’s mind is still in something of a haze. He tries the feel of it in his mouth but doesn’t give his own name, then tries to summon some of his old strength and demands, “Why have you taken me?” His voice comes out hoarse and cracked.

“Taken?” Faramir muses, then reassures, “You have not been _taken_ , aside from by the orcs, which I was not there for. My men _rescued_ you from them two days ago.”

Two days still sounds too long a time. Haldir searches Faramir’s face for any deception, but it’s fair beyond what Haldir thought mortals capable of—Faramir, even in what little light there is to see by, is plainly attractive by any standards, with gentle features, soft honey-golden hair, and a depth of kindness in his eyes. 

Still, Haldir is too weak to take words for granted, and he tries to push himself up—just to sit, just to look around—but his elbows scream in agony the second he’s put weight on them, and he collapses back against the earth with a pained cry. Concern instantly swarms Faramir’s face, and he puts a soothing hand on each of Haldir’s shoulders as though to brace him should he try such foolishness again. 

“You are safe,” Faramir promises. “I did the best I could to heal you, but I am no elf, and so I have been taking you north to your woods, where your own people will hopefully be able to attend you better. My men did not wish to stray too close to the ‘witch’ they have heard rumours of, and I could not spare them away from our post. But I will see you there.”

It’s a generous offer, if it’s true. Haldir’s not sure he can fully believe it. His instinct says to trust this lovely creature, so strangely captivating for a mortal being, but his fear and natural vigilance urges otherwise. Either way, he doesn’t like being utterly at the mercy of a Man. His fingers dig into the dirt beneath him, but he knows another attempt to rise would do more harm than good. Perhaps another night, he hopes, and his immortal body will have stitched itself more thoroughly together. 

In the meantime, Faramir seems to see his worry and repeats, “Fear not; you are safe.” His hand lightly squeezes Haldir’s shoulder—one of the few places he seems undamaged. Haldir shivers anyway, both from the touch and cold, and Faramir, regrettably, withdraws the warmth of his hand. 

He reaches back to unclip his cloak and drapes it over Haldir’s body like a blanket. It’s thin and not nearly as effective as an Elven cloak would be, but Haldir remembers his own being ripped from his body by the teeth of a warg. 

As Faramir tucks it carefully around Haldir’s stiff form, Haldir cautiously asks, “Why are you doing this?” When Faramir doesn’t answer, only continues to smooth the makeshift covering down along Haldir’s legs, Haldir adds sharply, “Do you hope to beat secrets of the woods from me while I am weakened?”

That makes Faramir’s head snap around. He manages to look both startled and a tad hurt, and he frowns and answers, “No. I would never harm such beauty.”

Another compliment to his looks. Haldir processes both that and the way Faramir’s eyes seem to look right into him, past the top layer of skin. It doesn’t seem right either, but he warily tries, “For pleasure, then?” He’s heard horror stories of such things, but never dreamed—

“Of course not,” Faramir answers both swiftly and firmly. He resumes his efforts to settle Haldir in with a few finishing touches, then looks back to Haldir’s face and adds, “I would not presume to think an elf bore any interest for me.” His tone is quite serious, even though Haldir must imagine that amongst his own people, _Faramir_ is the beauty. He’s certainly the fairest Man Haldir’s ever seen. 

What Haldir says instead is, “If I am no prisoner, may I have water?”

Faramir nods and reaches for a pack half tucked behind him. He withdraws a small flask. Haldir wants to lift for it but finds his body unwilling to try. Instead, Faramir wordlessly slips a hand behind Haldir’s head, gently helping it rise, and presses the flask against Haldir’s lips, tilting it accordingly. Haldir opens and swallows the first rush of sweet water, more than welcome after so long without. He hadn’t realized he was so thirsty until it’s flowing into him, and he drinks all that Faramir will spare him. He spills a few stray drops in his inability to maneuver either himself or the flask, but Faramir says nothing to compound his embarrassment. 

Perhaps halfway through the flask, Faramir pulls it away, eases Haldir back down, and explains, “We have some ways left, and I am not as familiar with these parts as I am the south. We had best ration accordingly.”

Haldir knows these lands well, or will, when he’s strong enough to get up and actually look around him, but all he says is, “Thank you.”

Faramir graces him with a smile and replaces the flask in his bag. Then Faramir bends down to deftly thumb the spilled droplets off Haldir’s chin. In his work, he hovers, once again, just above Haldir’s face, and Haldir, in a sudden wish for _comfort_ that no herb or bandage can give, tilts up enough to brush their mouths together.

Faramir freezes where he is, lips parting slightly. Haldir resists the urge to fill them in favour of murmuring, “Another remedy with elves is _company_ —there is great healing power in the pleasantness of touch.” 

Faramir barely seems to hear the information. His eyes are fixed on Haldir’s lips, and he replies quietly, “I will gladly touch you all you like.” 

It’ll take much to bring Haldir back from this, with proper medicines so far away, and he can’t do much in his current state. But he can do enough to enjoy _Faramir_ , and he feels some of the weight lift from his chest at that knowledge alone. Faramir hesitates, then comes closer again, and presses his mouth into Haldir’s. 

Haldir parts his lips instantly to sweep his tongue across Faramir’s seam, then to push past them, into the warm cavern of Faramir’s mouth. He strokes Faramir’s tongue with his own and shifts his arm at his side, just enough to lay his hand on Faramir’s knee. He can feel a slight tremor run though Faramir’s body, and he can feel a languid moan bubbling out of his own throat. The distraction is more than welcome: as his consciousness seeps into attraction, into _want_ , it ebbs away from pain and fear, and by the time they part for breath, Haldir feels ages better than he did when he first awoke. 

He still can’t move much, but Faramir kisses his forehead again and tells him, “Rest first, perhaps. I will keep watch, and we will do all you wish when you have the strength for it.”

Haldir has half a mind to insist otherwise, but Faramir is already pulling away, sitting up straight to keep watch. His profile is a noble silhouette against the starlight, and Haldir gets the distinct impression that, despite Faramir’s humble bearing, he’s worth far more than he knows. 

He seems Valar-sent for this. Haldir closes his eyes, soothed in that presence, and allows unconsciousness to claim him once more.


End file.
